Page 169 of Please Open Me
“I’msoserious,” he murmured, voice dipping lower. “You’re literally glowing, and it’s all I can do not to fuck you over my desk.”
Heat pooled low in my stomach, trickling down to my thighs.
“I, wow, you are bold,” I squeaked, suddenly aware of how close he and I were, his erection pressed to my ass, his hands warm against my bare skin.
“I mean it.” He pulled me closer, until our noses nearly touched. “You’re—God, you’re perfect like this. Well–you’re always perfect to me. But right now, you’re soft and full, and already mine. But I want more.”
“More?” I whispered.
“More nights like this. More mornings waking up with your belly against my back. More random Mason snuggles because you just need to be close to me. More ‘oh shit, guess we’re doing this again. IpromiseI’m going to be so much better this time.” His lips grazed my cheek before dipping lower. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer. Mostly because his mouth was on my throat which caused me to short circuit and completely forget what words were. My thoughts became an indecipherable slurry of French, English, and the three Spanish words Lucian had taught me–none of which were useful in this particular moment.
“I just want to ruin you in the mostdomesticway possible,” he growled, hands slipping under my hoodie, splaying wide over my stomach. “Barefoot, pregnant, and yelling at me because I left dishes in the sink.”
“You’re insane.” Despite my protests, I shivered at his words.
He felt it. Iknowhe felt it, because his grin turned down right wolfish.
“I don’t care if I’m drunk, or pissed off, or coming down from the worst high of my life. You are my fucking girl. And I would walk barefoot across a sea of broken glass just to tell you I love you—” He leaned in, lips brushing mine. “—and bury my face in that tight little cunt like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.”
My breath caught as pressure built between my thighs. But, my mind ran toward the least sexy thing of all: my husband.
The reality hit hard: I’d ruined the idea of marriage for myself by rushing into something built on memories and nostalgia. By tying myself to someone who only seemed to love me when he was stone-cold sober.
Someone who’d manipulated my birth control just to keep me.
Someone who maybe never loved me at all.
I’d been crumbling all day under the weight of it—knowing I’d ruin this little slice of heaven the moment Sebastian handed Lucian the divorce papers tomorrow.
But heaven isn’t heaven when you dread seeing the person you used to hold most dear.
It’s hell in a pretty coat.
And I still deserved to be loved, even when I was at my worst.
Sebastian must’ve felt the silent shift, because his body stilled and his fingers pressed into my hips as if trying to ground me in the moment.
“Mason,” he said softly, like he was afraid I might leave again. “Where’d you just go?”
I tried to look away, but his hand slid to my chin and tilted my face back toward his.
“Don’t do that,” he coached." You don’t get to disappear on me.”
“I’m just… thinking,” I whispered.
“Don’t,” he said. “I’ve had a shitty day, and so have you. No more thinking, for either of us.”
His fingers trembled on my cheeks.
“If we aren’t supposed to think–what do we do?”
He pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. I wasn’t exactly sure what had made his day so bad–but I didn’t ask. I didn’t need to. Instead, I closed my eyes too.
For a moment, we just breathed each other in.
Basking in the quiet, in the gravity of it all—Two souls, originally stitched together by desperation, now molded into something more.
